


Paris & Helena

by PumpkinFabliaux



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: A/B/O Dynamics with a Dark Twist, A/O bonds are inspired by the early depictions of vampirism in the 1700's, Alpha Noctis Lucis Caelum, Author edited chapter 4, Curses, Falling Hard in Love, Fucking Among Corpses, I love you Aranea, M/M, MTs are more human, Massacre in a Niflheim Base, Omega Prompto Argentum, Soulmates, sharing dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26890951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinFabliaux/pseuds/PumpkinFabliaux
Summary: Noctis goes on an improvised mission to attack and loot an imperial base (even when Ignis was definitely highlighting the loopholes of his plan). In the midst of battle he senses the unmistakable smell of the most exquisite omega in the whole fucking continent. The sudden wave of arousal and need he experiences clouds his judgement and he goes on full killing mode. Needless to say, the assault becomes an animalistic carnage. He murders and maims with no sense of coherence at all, until he finally gets to encounter the omega that caused it all.As it turns out, Prompto Argentum, a genetically modified experiment turned into assassin, and heir to the empire of Niflheim, is the creature whose scent has made the prince lose his damn mind. Prompto, on the other hand, has wreaked havoc on his own because of Noctis' presence, murdering all the enemy forces with no mercy. Feeling completely disgusted of their own natures, and covered in blood and gore, they try to fight each other to death.Yeah, right.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 15
Kudos: 86





	1. The greatest punishment

**Author's Note:**

> “What is that?”, he calmy asked, and his words were so bizarrely soft that probably no one else got to hear them.
> 
> The woman shuddered for an instant. A stoic Prompto was a lethal Prompto, or so goes the saying.
> 
> “Oh, that…”, she addressed him carefully, like a trapped bird trying to figure out whether the angry cat is merely joking or just about to pounce and eat her alive. “…is the prince of Lucis. And he seems to be butchering our people”. She spat this word with such hatred and venom that Prompto grabbed a massive Bioblaster, turned around and smirked.

“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.”  
― Federico Garcia Lorca, Blood Wedding and Yerma.

Chapter I ― The greatest punishment.

* * *

When prince Noctis, first-born of the house Caelum and legitimate heir to the throne of Lucis, arrived in this world, the Astrals remained silent during a whole lunar cycle. The messengers of Tenebrae, who believe in old stories about daemons and cursed fetuses, dared to question the purity of his lineage, and even blamed poor Regis for not protecting the queen when circumstances demanded it. After all, a motherless child is always meant to be assisted by awkward nurses and machines, at an age when human warmth and female voices are the only relief for a small, restless mind. His temperament, therefore, would suffer the consequences of an early orphanhood, or so they claimed. A prince who never met his mother's face could not be properly educated in the ways of the ancient monarchs. Rumors spread among the common folk. Some would look at the glorious Citadel from the distance and whisper a prayer to the sky, begging the gods that no evil would fall upon the lands of Insomnia, because of the baby that hadn’t been blessed.

However, even if the gods seemed unhappy with the future king, the bold Regis, in an act of fatherly love, decided to name his son Noctis, which meant _night_ in the holy language carved into the stones of Pitioss. A few weeks after his birth, finally, the majestic Shiva, in the form of a tamed beast, came to the Oracle in a dream, and uttered the following words: “Hail to the youngest descendant of the Caelum line; his actions will bring glory and prosperity to his nation, his name shall be remembered long after the last ruin of Insomnia turns to dust, and he will be the first of his kind to receive the mark of Bahamut, the Draconian priest. But the path to greatness comes with a cruel price. After his departure from this world, Noctis will not rest among the stars”.

This premonition was clear and absolute: immortality, for unknown reasons, would be denied to the prince. Shiva’s revelation regarding the limited condition of Noctis’ life was judged as a punishment by the skeptics, who still had their obscure reservations about the child. But for those who had faith in the house of Lucis, not being able to life forever was the ultimate sacrifice in exchange for a greater good. Only a true king would be capable of something so admirable. History was yet to be written, and so the prince rapidly won the love and respect of his people. Noctis’ fatal destiny became a symbol of the new era, and he was seen more as a man than a server of the Astrals.

Civilized men felt comfortable providing for a king who had the same human limitations they did, even being born in the midst of opulence. His wardens and subjects felt genuine empathy for the kid, who had accepted the finalities and horrors of a mortal existence with incredible nonchalance. When he became old enough to start questioning the nature of Shiva’s premonition, Noctis feared that his detractors may be right, that perhaps he was meant to commit a heinous crime that would forever cast him away from the realm of ascended kings. Nonetheless, he was resigned to fulfill his fate. After all, what can a mere mortal do to overcome the inscrutable designs of the gods?

Fuck them.

* * *

Killing a man is never a sexual thing, no matter how incredibly satisfying it may be to feel the bones slowly cracking under the pressure of one’s foot. But for Prompto Argentum, crushing a sentient being is the closest experience to erotic intercourse he has ever had. Monsters are not allowed to taste anything but regret, and is ludicrous for an MT warrior, trained to maim and destroy, to imagine a scenario where he’s putting his mouth on a person for some other use than biting and chewing. So, when Aranea Highwind first talked to him about the carnal method by which an alpha claims the body of a desired omega, he couldn’t help to associate the act of fucking with the concept of mutual annihilation. It was the easiest way to depict himself an interaction out of the realm of “violence”.

When he found out that the prince of Lucis had attacked the Formouth Garrison in northern Leide, along with his Crownsguard and other military forces, he was obviously tasked with the mission to get rid of the unwelcomed visitors. Prompto was not only the deadliest asset of the Niflheim army, but also the original blood heir to the empire, until his ingenious father made the choice to turn him into a lab rat. Fun fact, several years of suffering were paying off, and at the age of 19 the young prince was also an expensive killing device, whose only flaw was a biological designation that people apparently connected to the stigma of weakness. Prompto couldn’t care less about being an omega, not when thousands of alpha fighters had been brutally slaughtered under his command. “War is a nasty subject, that changes everyone’s nature for the worse”, he used to repeat over and over again while smoking cold cigarettes with Aranea in some random damp alley. She was not only his most faithful companion, but also a distant relative with a minor sense of loyalty towards the crown of Niflheim.

No survivors were to be forgiven, Ardyn has warned, using that tone which foresaw dreadful repercussions for those whose resolve may not be firm enough when it comes to condone cruelty. Prompto and the other MTs had entered the facilities pretty late; the assailants had already opened fire and damaged one of the three main reactors of the base. Ardyn was going to be royally pissed, indeed. The main yard was a chaos and from miles away you could admire the tremendous disarray of armors clashing against one another, swift bullets and deafening explosions. There was also a flashing figure warping from side to side, leaving translucent and beautiful shapes in the air whenever it passed. When Prompto looked at it closer, he noticed this fast succession of lights was also marking the pattern of fallen Magitek infantry. For a moment, he was fascinated by this phenomenon; it reminded Prompto of the trail of cosmic dust between two massive red giant stars. “This rapture could also fucking kill you”, he had to scold himself.

“He’s a living weapon”, one of the MTs whispered. “There’s no way we could take him down, we gotta call for reinforces”.

“Prompto, wake the hell up!”, an angry voice called from behind.

Highwind smacked the back of the kid’s head, but his eyes were fixated on the twitchy little silhouette that kept jumping around like it was propelled by the Astrals themselves.

“What is that?”, he calmy asked, and his words were so bizarrely soft that probably no one else got to hear them.

The woman shuddered for an instant. _A stoic Prompto was a lethal Prompto_ , or so goes the saying.

“Oh, that…”, she addressed him carefully, like a trapped bird trying to figure out whether the angry cat is merely joking or just about to pounce and eat her alive. “…is the prince of Lucis. And he seems to be _butchering_ our people”. She spat this word with such hatred and venom that Prompto grabbed a massive Bioblaster, turned around and smirked.

“Boys…”, he yelled, and abruptly a few hundred souls were standing still, with their hearts as tenders as doves, “…we have Insomnian royalty in our grounds. Let’s deliver the prince the kind of hospitable ceremony he deserves”.

The enthusiastic reaction of his troops was priceless. It was like injecting them with a dose of Magitek booster. All marched behind Prompto with the strong conviction that no matter how many tragic songs and urban myths had celebrated the _heavenly grace_ of the adversary, Noctis and his forces were inevitably doomed. Aranea, on the other hand, felt a twinge in her gut of something new and dangerous. It was the way Prompto’s nostrils had flared, the unconscious change on his posture, the seductive darkness emerging from his voice that effortlessly allured a multitude to waltz blindly into their deaths. She knew that exquisite performance too well, from her own perverse understanding of omega nature, being one of the last female alphas on Eos. Aranea had discovered, when Prompto was only an angry child sitting on the wrong end of a torture instrument, that he was intended to lead mercenaries for he had _the scent of death and chaos_ itself on his veins. Chancellor Ardyn Izunia, who was positively a sick bastard, managed to transform fear into adoration, and used Prompto’s genetic traits to make thousands bend on their knees. It was also the apparent reason why he was the only omega MT in the whole empire. Prompto’s smell was so fucking good and all-pervading that it could actually mess you up, to the point of compelling the most powerful army in the world to gladly embrace a suicidal fate. The line between physical desire and bloodlust was so thin, so blurry, that it had been turned into a very effective weapon. Niflheim soldiers were infatuated with a beautiful creature that never failed to meet the expectations placed upon him and his blood-stained lineage. Many red flags and concerns were stopping Aranea from diving face first, impulsively, into one of the most complex battles of the war, but one single idea made the acid in her lady guts go wild, for causes she wasn’t ready to fathom just yet: _the prince of Lucis is an alpha_.

* * *

“Honestly, Noctis, I still can’t believe you tricked me into following through this childish and reckless enterprise…”, Ignis Scientia yelled while throwing a pair of shiny Organyx daggers into the core of a MA-X Angelus-0. Gladio was a couple of steps ahead, making an exceptional effort to get rid simultaneously of eight Magitek Swordsmen.

The battlefield was a complete mess and Ignis was 99% inclined to reassert his original judgement about the crazy operation Noctis had suggested: yes, it was brilliant, but one small move in the wrong direction and they would be utterly screwed. It had been really practical to include Cor Leonis and his glaives in the mission; a large group had gotten near the remaining reactor and it was a matter of time before calling the attack a victory. To Ignis’ surprise, they had reached a safe point where only a few unexpected deviations from the original plan (what was the original plan, exactly?) could ruin Noctis terribly plotted strategy.

“Come on Specs, have a little faith in your future king…”, Noctis mocked him, slashing the throat of a Rogue Axeman. “You would be the most pessimistic Oracle in the history of Eos, my friend”. For a moment, the trio found a secluded clearing in the yard, and they gathered around a bunch of discarded weapons to polish the final details of the plan.

“Ok, Noct, I need you to be fully committed right now and please DON’T LET ANYTHING DISTRACT YOU, for fuck’s sake!”.

“Gladiolus, it is expected from the king’s shield to have proper manners when addressing royalty…”.

“Listen, you guys need to trust me on this one. The glaives won’t be able to deactivate the reactor using the main key, someone remotely accessed the system and it has to be manually shut down…”.

“Wow, hold up, this is NOT what we approved before….”, Gladio interrupted him, aware of how stubborn Noctis can be when it comes to improvise essential parts of the strategy in the least appropriate minute.

“Noctis, the empire just sent one their best extermination units to come for us; the prince cannot simply leave the rearguard unprotected. If reaching the top of the reactor takes more time than what we actually have, the MTs will massacre Cor’s friends. You do realize that’s a risk we can’t take, right?”.

“Iggy, you’re so afraid I will disappoint my people that you’re failing to assess the situation as it is!”, the prince said, carefully choosing his next words in order to assure his comrades he had everything under control. “There’s no actual way to take the last reactor down from the bottom of the structure. Someone needs to literally teleport to the highest part and destroy the source of energy. I don’t think you know anyone else fit for the job…”.

“Noct, I trust you with my life; but this is the kind of situation where we’re putting people we care about in a very compromising position. One trivial distraction and they’re…”.

“…dead. I know, but I swear there’s nothing in heaven or hell that could possibly lead me away from getting to the top of the reactor as fast as I can”.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello there. I'm obsessed with this ship and this twisted story is gonna be probably four, five chapters long. So enjoy the ride, perverts.


	2. Monstrous and unlawful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, this is what dying feels like…”, Prompto speaks. He can smell himself, and Noctis, and the obscene odor of a hundred silent corpses. There’s a loud thunder in the distance. 
> 
> Noctis is staring. He seems to be obsessed with the details of his face; to be counting every single freckle, every miniature scar.
> 
> “Death would be a blessing right now”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drum rolls*

“The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful.”

― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray.

It was not in vain that the highest authorities among the Court of Lucii decided to appoint Ignis Scientia as the prince’s main advisor. During his teenage years, Ignis did his best to prove he was the most suitable individual to deal with Noctis’ adventurous and careless temperament. Trained to always be the voice of moderation and diplomacy, he eventually became one of the friendly confidants who jealously guarded Noctis’ well-being, a task he shared with Gladio. The Amicitia kid, on the other hand, was more compatible with the prince’s intrepid side. If Ignis was always pinning for a cautious and sensible solution, Gladio preferred minimizing the risks and going for bolder moves. As a result, Noctis’ personality was shaped by two highly contrasting influences. However, every time they were hit by a crisis, Ignis would notice that Gladio's presence in Noctis' education had been more permanent and decisive than his. Which was, in fact, incredibly not helpful.

“Please, Iggy, I’m not gonna blow this up”, the young prince assured, sounding more juvenile than ever.

He sighed, foreseeing the promise of a really long headache. One does not simply fight against the obstinate resolve of six dysfunctional Astrals and a foolish teen. It’s not like his salary is _that_ good.

“Go…”, he acquiesced. “But remember that decisions like these can push the course of war in a very bad direction, Noctis. And be extra careful with the MTs that are waiting for you on the other side”.

Dear Shiva, there goes Noctis with that really convincing grin that could overthrow even your best defenses.

“Oh baby, they won’t see the shitstorm coming from a mile away…”. And just like that, he launched himself after the Ex Machina like some sort of human rocket. Gladio whistled, looking at the stars.

“That little freak is gonna be the end of us man… but damn, he does have a penchant for drama”.

In that very instant, the tide shifted in the battlefield. Multiple gunshots were coming from everywhere at once, and Cor assembled his men quickly to prepare for a second wave of artillery. A third-class Immortalis suddenly popped out of nowhere followed by a vicious MT horde. Ignis recognized the gorgeous silhouette of a female warrior on top of the massive automaton; it was General Highwind, the prettiest scrap of weaponry ever designed in Eos _._ The _wicked alpha siren,_ as baptized by Clarus Amicitia, who wore on his left side a nasty reminder of her last expedition around Insomnia. Yeah, people would tell gruesome stories about her. Aranea’s smell would remind you of dying poets and absinthe; of a wounded animal that looked harmless, yet treacherous. They had never encountered such a vindictive killer before, at least not face to face in an open arena, which prompted Iggy and Gladio to use their best arsenal of tricks. Good thing Noctis would be back _anytime soon_ , not before shattering the reactor’s core into a million tiny fragments of radioactive garbage. That would provide a nice distraction for the MTs.

But then something felt… quite not right. Cor noticed it first, being the oldest of the group, and stood still, trying to get a hold of his senses. His comrades were shocked as well and their movements in battle became erratic and less measured. The MTs were coming in waves of ten and they seemed ecstatic, too pumped by some sort of invisible force. And dear Ifrit, the air…

There was _something_ in the air.

Gladio put his hands to his mouth, coughing, like when a bad drink comes down your throat too fast, and too foul.

When they realized what was actually going on, it was too late. A terrible angel had fallen upon them, with blank eyes.

* * *

Noctis was surrounded by four less threatening, mechanical wormlike versions of the MA-X Patria –probably earlier betas of the mythic Immortalis–, when _the scent_ hit him. Forty meters above the ground, weakened and alone.

Gunpowder, cigarette and roses. It brought Noctis the memory of beautiful, ephemeral things.

At the age of twenty, the prince was still a virgin. His father had humored him with impractical tales about romance, tragedy and fate. He kept forgetting about them, over and over again, and painted himself this bizarre concept of _desire_ that had nothing to do with the mouth and the lungs. For him, love was scribbling down a bunch of meaningless confessions in a secret notebook. Love was burning the tips of the pages to make it look classier. Love was the tender features of a blonde girl he had called _mine_ in his dreams. Love was a childish delusion, not the beginning of hunger.

But, in that glorious, mind-opening instant, love came in the form of thirst and madness; it was a red-hot intoxication spreading out like wildfire from the darkest corners of his mind to the tips of his quivering fingers. And even though omegas are not meant to be _that immorally tempting_ , Noctis’ gland is pulsing like hell and about to explode. Lunafreya had placed brief and timid kisses in her fiancée’s brow before, when no one else was looking, but he is aware no heavenly woman’s touch compares to this unrequited torment. 

The prince knows he is willing to bargain everything, including the crown he doesn’t wear yet, to be free from the idea that this omega is not destined to be his. He doesn’t even acknowledge the blasphemy in these thoughts.

The first MA-X Patria steps closer, but Noctis is still letting himself go and doesn’t even recoil when the flames start consuming away his clothes, scorching his hands. He’s out of this world and he can only focus on the exquisite miasma that is clouding his reason, driving him mad. Noctis is wonderfully aware of every single soul around him. He can basically gauge the scope of their existences; it’s like having a map to the actual algorithm of life. And the other MTs are providing a white noise to the back of his head that he simply can’t have. He craves for one thing, for a single presence. He needs to wipe them all out of breath, but one.

 _Fuck_ , he is so damn aroused.

Noctis opens his eyes to find himself trapped in a maze of iron-clad MTs ready to shoot and mutilate.

The survivors won’t have tongues to speak about the mad prince who rejoiced in carnage and gore.

* * *

Prompto doesn’t seem to hear nothing at all, but Aranea is crying to the heavens, she’s screaming so loud her throat is inflamed and her voice sounds hoarse and ugly, like a broken record. The MTs are scattered all over the ground, cut off in uneven pieces, the limbs so sloppily ripped it looks like the instrument of kill was somehow _out of calibration_. She has never been this terrified and Prompto is covered in too much blood, all dirt beneath his nails; torn, bruised, unrecognizable and yet gorgeous as ever.

Aranea clearly doesn’t know what’s happening but right now Prompto is firing his way out of a barrier of glaives, leaving her behind, looking around for something that must be _fucking priceless_. Quickly, she starts running invisible numbers on her little head and for all the human crap she has seen, no, the dead body of the prince Noctis is not among the countless casualties of the night.

The bastard is very much alive and when she connects dot one with dot two, the Astrals align and she has the stupidest epiphany. _Prompto has scented him._ Well, to be honest, even Aranea can sense the provocation floating in the atmosphere. Noctis is unconsciously calling the blonde to his side. It’s that pretentious alpha/omega bullshit she used to hate back when she was a hormonal mess and constantly needed six inches of dick up her cunt to feel remotely satiated.

She absolutely knows this is her cue to get the fuck out of the base. Her flesh is not made of steel and the Argentum boy is wreaking havoc with that delicious scent. That, and blowing off more skulls with his own hands than a dozen Magitek cannon blasters. Both sides have suffered heavy losses; but the collection of dead MTs around her looks so disarrayed she even considers the possibility of Prompto involuntarily murdering his own soldiers. She can’t tell for sure. War and sex are equally measurable in terms of body parts.

For the first time in his fucked-up life, Prompto is totally pissed at himself. Pissed that he’s not rationally calculating his moves, that there’s warm slick sliding down his thighs, that there are too many breathing obstacles separating him from that furtive alpha. Prompto is determined to catch and kill until there’s nothing else in Eos but _him_ –because, yeah, the possibility of another female alpha near Aranea is too ludicrous to entertain–. And the smell; heavens, is consuming the last thread of sanity in his mind. He can _taste_ the overwhelming power; he can envision the dread in the eyes of that man's enemies. And this new weakness he came to accept, is pure, unadulterated wanting. The desire to be ruined and opened apart by bare hands.

He comes to a halt in front of the northern reactor’s tower, and looks up. It’s suddenly raining, and he breathes in, deeply, thoroughly. The alpha trace is so sharp in that spot, his heart is thrashing like a caged bird. His hands are shaking; if he were to shoot a moving target he would definitely miss. Ardyn won’t be pleased to hear his favorite gunman has lost the ability to control his own body anymore. Prompto couldn’t care less if there’s a dead warrant with his name on it after tonight. There, in the last floor, he can discern the unmistakable silhouette of a human shadow. And he _can feel_ the unwavering stare, the mutual recognition. His throat has gone dry; he’s about to fucking pass out from the simple realization he has found the first and only human being he has ever desired.

Of course, Prompto can tell _he is being desired as well_. The alpha’s soul is a mirror of his own. They’re doomed together.

But the unknown figure abruptly shifts and Prompto is climbing the stairs to the highest area of the reactor so fast, his legs are barely responding. He doesn’t have the patience to notice his clothes are wet for all the blood he has spilled, or that his own face is a little bit swollen and bruised from all the violence he has taken in the course of the last hour. Also, he probably reeks of vomit and dirt. Who the fuck could care about such mundane details when there’s a heavy fog of longing obscuring your thoughts? The higher he gets, the more and more familiar corpses he sees. All belong to the Niflheim forces, which kind of should’ve triggered lots of alarms in Prompto’s mind. The smell keeps getting more intense, it’s raining harder outside and he feels like ripping his own clothes off.

Indeed, the Astrals must have a pretty fucked up sense of humor.

Because there, at the top room of the main reactor, looking as beaten and horrified as himself, is Noctis Lucis Caelum, his sworn enemy.

Prompto begins then to appreciate the circumstances, and the way these have been developing until that fateful moment. For him, it was like learning the dead language of his grandfather all over again. Surprisingly, you get to see the beauty underneath a mundane idea, just because it’s being pronounced in a new, eccentric way. Finding about Noctis was exactly like calling a _sylleblossom_ using another word. It was a ground-breaking experience Prompto wanted to treasure in his memory, until his last day. And it makes him livid to ever contemplate this reunion as something else but a tragic and miserable joke.

The Niflheim prince knows he has to kill this man in front of him. But the animal, the human, wants nothing but to ravage him wholly.

 _Killing a man is never a sexual thing_. Oh, the irony.

And he knows he definitely has to appear miserable beneath all that poorly concealed desire, for Noctis’ agitated expression is exactly what he thinks his own pain looks like.

“Your Highness”, he whispers, with all the sarcasm he can muster.

Noctis eyes flick for a moment, and he grunts. The animal in Prompto is thrashing in his chains, hurting badly.

“Who are you?”, the beautiful vision asks, and they have started circling each other slowly, like two predators waiting for the perfect opening to finally pounce and rip each other apart.

Noctis’ eyes are mesmerizing. Prompto can’t breathe. “I am nothing”, he gently replies. Somehow, he’s imagining both of them in another world, in another time. He could have been nothing, a no-one, and even "nothing" sounds better than this.

“It would be so easy to break your neck…”, Noctis tells him, and Prompto fights the urge to whine. He knows this must be an alpha thing, always having to assert their physical dominance. Maybe he’s hallucinating and Noctis voice didn’t come out as teasing and sweet as he heard it. His cock twitches, and he feels drunk and hard. Dear gods, he must be losing his mind.

“You could try it…”, he drawls, testing the waters.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, a flash of blue light and then Prompto is being lifted from the ground, pressed forcefully against the wall, the edge of a silver blade so close to his throat he could practically cut himself by moving a few inches.

Also, there’s the cold barrel of a gun pointed at Noctis’ chest.

“So, this is what dying feels like…”, Prompto speaks. He can smell himself, and Noctis, and the obscene odor of a hundred silent corpses. There’s a loud thunder in the distance.

Noctis is staring. He seems to be obsessed with the details of his face; to be counting every single freckle, every miniature scar.

“Death would be a blessing right now”.

Just like that, the thread snapped.

They’re both going at each other with such force and violence that maybe some actual _physical_ thing shattered to pieces. Noctis mouth is all over him; biting, sucking, tasting. His hands are cupping Prompto’s face fiercely, and the MT boy can’t rip his clothes off fast enough. They both smell now like raw desperation, the kind that leads saints to the brink of madness. The floor is cold, unfriendly and full of dead people. Prompto takes a necessary moment to examine the alpha’s expression; Noctis looks at him in a way that makes his heart recoil uncomfortably. He wants to be seen by those petrifying, somber eyes for the rest of his life, he couldn’t care less if Noctis chooses to kill him after the storm subsides. He would embrace the sentence willingly. And fuck, is he _blushing_? Because there’s no space for warmth in hunger. No, Prompto refuses to acknowledge that brief, flickering _something_ that keeps going back and forth between them while they kiss, naked.

He takes the black-haired prince’s massive dick in his calloused hands and tries to put it inside of him, but Noctis head is momentarily between his legs and _oh, for the love of_ _Shiva_ , that same hot tongue was inside his mouth a few seconds ago. Prompto’s vision goes white because this alpha is fingering _and_ sucking him and it’s too damn much to take. How come he hasn’t _fainted_ yet? Noctis grabs his hand and places it on the top of his head. Fuck, is as soft and silky as it looks. His gland is swollen red, begging to be claimed, and _no, he needs to stop that idea from becoming a thing._ He can’t join his life to this man who’s leading a war against the Niflheim empire. He can’t have this, _him_ , more than once. It’s the price to be paid for greatness. _Not this… Why does it have to be you?_

Prompto clings to the other boy harder and for Noctis this urgency, this understanding, is just too intimate to bear. _He does want intimacy; he wants mutual acknowledgement_. He might start screaming of anger; and Prompto sounds like he’s one breath away from lunacy as well. The weather matches the turmoil inside their minds and when Noctis finally penetrates him, Prompto finds a flawless excuse for letting it all out. He believes the sounds he makes are not human. That scream, which has finally awakened a part of his soul, can come from many places. In his mind, he retreats to a time when he still had the hope of escaping, of having another name. When he keeps screaming again and again, Noctis lifts him up and kisses him open-mouthed. He presses their foreheads together and their eyes meet for a second. _This is it_ , Prompto confesses to himself, _this is what falling hard in love feels like._

Noctis’ eyes have changed. Everything has changed. And Prompto doesn’t notice when or how it happens, but unexpectedly he’s on all fours and Noctis mouth has latched onto his neck brutishly.

He’s pretty sure the moment he was claimed, his other half bit him so ardently, part of his skin teared up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about you guys, but I fucking cried re-reading my own bullshit.  
> God, love is complicated.


	3. An eternity of damnation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How does it feel, Prom?”. The MT’s eyes are full of stars, of cosmic explosions. But they’re also wet, and weary.
> 
> “I’ve never missed anything like this in my entire life, Aranea…”, he confesses. “And I only had him for an instant. Then he almost killed both of us”.

“What can an eternity of damnation matter to someone who has felt, if only for a second, the infinity of delight?”

― Charles Baudelaire, Paris Spleen.

Chapter III. ― An eternity of damnation. **  
**

He looked up to the heavens and felt a twinge of forbidden excitement. A horror that came, simultaneously, like some sort of relief. Gladio was quietly standing next to him; even in those moments when the storm had been rowdy and unpredictable, Ignis could still hear the slight fluctuations of a nervous breathing which was not his own. _Always together, no matter what_. He was tempted to ask the Shield if he had actually witnessed the same things he did; if he had, by any chance, in the midst of that fateful battle, seen the face of a dark god in the skies. But he acknowledged the sad absurdity of his thoughts and pushed those uncertainties to the back of his mind. The elders would call _him_ by many names. Unlike other Astrals, he was both idolized and feared in equal measure. _Like love itself_. Ignis remembered his own grandfather speaking in hushed tones about _Indra, lord of the Levine_. What an awful lot of frightening ideas can adults put into a child's mind! He tried to compare those long-lost memories to his first studies of theology. Vague as they were, there had been mentions in the arcane literature about the phenomenon that they had just experienced. Sightings of Ramuh, the vengeful prince of the thunder, at least a couple of times in the past.

For Ignis, on the other hand, it was inconceivable that such a young man like Noctis, out of thin air, would have awakened a deity that had been missing for thousands of years. According to his limited knowledge of cosmogony, what had just happened was an unprecedented miracle in the history of Lucis. It seemed unlikely that at the age of twenty, the heir of Lucii had summoned the fury of Ramuh. Not even Regis had been capable of such a feat. But, merely a couple of options could explain the lighting that had blinded them all, and none of them could have possibly come from nature.

They were scooping what was left of Formouth, with hopes of retrieving as many comrades as they could before the Empire claimed the ashes of the fallen for themselves. He knew Noctis was alive somewhere, but the task of finding him had proven to be severely difficult. Half the landscape was covered in debris, corpses and radioactive materials. On top of that, the stench of collective death made it almost impossible to trace him. It was like navigating a maze in a starless night, with no sense of time or direction. Besides, Gladio and Ignis shared another unspoken concern, one that was particularly related to an issue that none of them had the courage to discuss out loud, at least not in front of so many people. _Noctis’ scent had combined with another_. That realization seemed, at first, preposterous and unplausible, and yet, there was no escape from its crashing reality. It was obvious to anyone who had a close relationship to the prince that _the air was heavy_ with a new smell that was part his, part _something_ entirely different altogether. Not even a mountain of decay was strong enough to hide it, and that was something Ignis wasn’t ready, or willing, to understand.

And that could only have one feasible meaning, in terms of rudimentary biology. Of course, Noctis’ friends were both pretending to justify those unexpected circumstances by appealing to common sense, which dictated that sometimes, when an alpha fights an omega, body-to-body, no long-range weapons (again, pretty much an unplayable theory if Noctis is involved, but, well), hormones can get _a little bit_ on the way. The need to _defile_ another person’s body can often be confused with a sexual instinct; it’s not entirely unheard of. Perhaps, taking into consideration the prince has never been physically intimate with another man or woman, his body reacted in strange ways to the presence of an unmated omega in the battlefield. Again, there’s a high chance they’re both just incredibly exhausted and on the verge of collapse. Yes, Ignis is not completely sure he has the mental state, a few minutes before dawn, wounded and hungry, to reevaluate his views about the political implications of sexuality in the contemporary Lucis.

Cor had deemed the operation a successful one, even at a high cost. The Niflheim forces had been exterminated, not effortlessly, but still; and the three reactors that powered many resources in the area were scattered in pieces all over the ground. Noctis had been wise in suggesting Formouth before other bases, and his insistent disposition to lead the assault had been rewarded with a tremendous victory, albeit a bloody one. Ignis looked around and saw the remains of what had been one of the hardest episodes of war, now touched by the first light of day. Everything was bathed in golden hues. Thanks to the awful weather, Ignis had taken off his glasses and the world had this blurry appearance, like an unfinished canvas. He could see them, no matter what, all those broken soldiers lying on the ground, their eyes unmoving. Ignis was trying to piece together the verses of an old eulogy when he saw Gladio lifting a massive obstacle that was previously blocking the access to the reactor’s staircase.

His chest tightened, and he simply _knew_ it. Noctis was up there.

* * *

When the prince woke up, there was nothing left but the sky, and the _weight of absence_. His body, for the first time in two decades, felt somehow mutilated. Everything seemed to be at its usual place, except for the mind. It was elsewhere, looking for the only thing that could lay it to rest. Noctis understood, in the aftermath of what had been a restless impasse, why people called it _bonding_. You wouldn’t just physically connect with another being. You would become one with them, forever. No more limits, no more solitude. Just the parallel of two lives, entwined till death or madness tear them apart. Without _him_ , the air was unnervingly quiet. The choir of desperate voices had gone, the fire had ceased. His _lover_ was nowhere to be seen.

And when Noctis couldn’t stand looking at his own emptiness anymore, his eyes traveled back to the grim landscape and met the stoic faces of Ignis and Gladio. The prince noticed the _surprise_ , the _fear_ , the _disappointment_ , written all over their muted expressions. He knew it was all directed solely to him, but oh, _he couldn’t care less_. There’s no place for genuine regret in hell. Only nostalgia for the things we took, in selfish abandon, but can’t fully possess.

“What have you done, Noctis?”, Ignis whispered, making one last naive effort to understand the actions of his dearest friend.

“I _need_ him, Iggy…”, he softly answered, trembling. The coldness returned to his hands, to his throat. He wasn’t thinking straight.

“For Ifrit’s sake, Noct… you’re _fucking_ bleeding…”, Gladio noticed, running towards his side and examining an ugly wound in his chest, one that brought repulsive thoughts to Ignis’ mind. Noctis coughed and, for a second, it was like having a restless parasite eating him from the inside out. Certainly, something had hurt him pretty badly. He hadn’t recognized the pain until that moment; there were too many aching realizations at once, and a poisonous shot was the least of his concerns.

“A Magitek bullet, we have to take it out now. Gladio, put your coat around him. We must get rid of the _stench_ quickly, before others start noticing the _change_ ”.

“No, wait…”, Noct tried to resist them, but his limbs felt sluggish, almost detached. “What do you mean…the _stench_?”.

“Listen, Noctis, we don’t have much time now to weigh down the consequences of… this… whatever this is…”, Ignis said, tearing off his shirt and tossing it to the side, “…you, _bonded_ with an omega. With your enemy. I remember how he smelled like, Noctis, while killing our comrades, while…. Damn, is all over you!”.

“And it will stay here, with me”, Noctis tried to fight back, but he had no defenses left.

“He’s not being rational now, dude…”, Gladio interrupted them, and hoisted one of Noct’s arms over his shoulders. “Can’t you see he was brutally injured and yet he managed to _fuck_ the hell out of that omega? For the love of Ifrit, he even dragged a forgotten deity out of his miserable slumber… That’s a pretty good lay to me…”.

“I did NOT just hear that”, Ignis deadpanned, “Listen, we need some purified salts to tone _it_ down until we reach a safe haven. Cor will have some serious questions for us if he gets to find out…”.

“ _WHERE THE FUCK IS HIM!?”,_ the prince roared, a saddened growl coming out of his lungs. Ignis and Gladio flinched in unison. There’s a dangerous form of yearning not even the Astrals themselves can cure. Something entirely _human_ , where the unnatural has no domain. And the prince, with all his grace and power, is still a mere mortal.

It started raining again, harder.

* * *

They’re intensely staring at him like he just managed to avoid the curse of a Psychomancer ―which he metaphorically did, in the most unpredicted, reckless way―. He’s a bit of a treasure the Astrals retrieved from the enemy’s hands (or so the MTs believe, visibly grateful for their luck), all soaked in glorious red, aching, the stomach full of bile and regret, and yet not ready to become the martyr of a political conflict that started long before his oldest ancestor, Queen Cara Besithia, was born.

Prompto’s uniform is a mess and he has a tattered scarf wrapped around his neck to poorly conceal the awful truth of his recent life choices. The Niflheim prince seems a little too invested in keeping everyone at arm’s length. He desperately refuses the touch of his own kin, ostensibly revolted every time someone approaches in an attempt to provide some help, when he should be, in any case, indebted to the honest concern of his militaries. Only his most loyal servant, General Highwind, gets to close the distance and gently holds his unsteady form before he collapses to the ground, shaking.

But the moment her mind drifts away from the enormous relief of knowing her dearest friend is miraculously alive, she _recoils_ , in pure shock. Because Aranea is no fool, and her alpha senses are always heightened when she’s near the beautiful monster in front of her. Prompto smells like a _virgin forest_ ; unmarred by the greed of men, like _a fragment of heaven_. The alpha in her is _seething,_ for it’s very hard to get rid, even at her age, of the inherent want to possess and savage even those who are basically meant to inspire brotherly fondness, not desire. It’s quite difficult to unlearn, to tame what is mostly an unconscious impulse. She breathes through her mouth, angrily, and tries in earnest not to burst into flames. In the end, Aranea feels horribly alone and there’s a pang of self-pity and jealousy beneath the sudden urge to wipe Prompto _clean_ from the physical claim of other being. The prince’s expression is one she would never forget, even years after that fateful scene, in the rain. She feels like crying for him, like mimicking his pain and mercifully stealing it away, as if it was her own. That imprudent reaction is an _alpha thing_ as well, Aranea scolds herself. To be utterly devoted and ready to jump in at the first sign of misfortune and weakness. She very secretly knows, deep inside, that no matter how egotistical her intentions can be, no one can heal the emptiness, the gaping void after losing half of one’s soul. There’s only one path to traverse after separation, and it’s called madness.

Nonetheless, she couldn’t help but wonder…

“How does it feel, Prom?”. The MT’s eyes are full of stars, of cosmic explosions. But they’re also wet, and weary.

“I’ve never missed anything like this in my entire life, Aranea…”, he confesses. “And I only had him for an instant. Then he almost killed both of us”.

Yes, she can attest to that memory. There had been a strange phenomenon in the skies. She wasn’t much of a religious person, but some experiences can only be described wordlessly. Human knowledge should not venture that far as to question the origins of love and death. Some things come from the fire, and others brew in the storm.

Carefully, she walked him into a private tent and began to remove the bloody fabric from his skin. The prince was limping and there was an open wound to his side. The fine work of a sharpened edge, no doubt. Ironically, he merely asked for a cigarette while she did a notable effort to ignore how tangible the foreign _aroma_ was in an enclosed space. His whole body screamed of that _alpha_ ; of his mouth, his tongue, his claws, and she hated it. It was driving her fucking crazy, and not in the hot, lustful kind of way. Aranea examined the lacerations but decided against calling a proper surgeon. She was definitely trained to sew him up and, besides, he adored uneven scars and bad patching. Made him look like he had lived longer and fought better. After a while she started to grow used to the unpleasant smell. War provided stuff that reeked _almost_ worse that the Insomnian boy.

“What’s with the funny scarf?”, she noted. It had been nagging at her for a while.

Prompto hissed. She purposely had stuck the needle a wrong angle, as to wake him up.

A moment of awkward silence, then more sewing and fixing. Highwind insisted, once again.

He was stupidly hoping she would let it go, but after a few considerations, well… Better to be done with it.

“ _NO SHIT, PROMPTO!_ ”, Aranea screamed, and all other worries were momentarily forgotten.

There it was, right on his neck. One of the nastiest, bloodiest _bite marks_ she had ever seen.

“Are you fucking insane?!”, she lost it, “…you let him do that?! THAT’S TREASON, ASSHOLE!!!”.

But then he coughed up some blood and the alpha just scurried down to his side again. It was futile to resist the sympathy.

“…and I came so hard when he did it…”, Prompto admitted, and smirked to himself. No, not exactly like that. It was a weird ass smile that looked positively wrecked. And there it was, solid and real, the dangerous hunger that follows after you've tasted an infinity of delight.

“Yeah…”, she sighed. “…that makes total sense. Can’t wait to hear what Ardyn has to say about it”.

“I don’t give a fuck about what Ardyn may think”, he says, with no remorse at all. “Right now, my whole everything is hurting like hell and if you don’t get me your strongest drugs so I can get higher than the Citadel, I’m going to lose my mind; I mean it, Aranea…”.

“Prompto, it will only get worse, you idiot… Trust me, you don’t know how it works. It will consume your thoughts until…”.

“I want him so badly right now I SWEAR I’m about to punch a wall”.

“STAY STILL, DUDE, OR I’M GONNA PUNCH YOU!”, she admonished him, “This is perfectly normal, but wait until a few days pass, loverboy. Oh, you will regret this very, very much…”.

“No, I won’t…”.

Aranea halted, and they shared a look. They had been friends since childhood, there was nothing they could hide from each other. She definitely had an idea of what was coming next.

“I need you to find out how can I infiltrate the Insomnian walls”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know my spelling sucks, but OH BELIEVE ME, Prompto will suck harder next chapter.


	4. Nobody dances sober

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prince knew his cheeks were burning in that instant. He yearned, oh yes, terribly. Memories could not hold justice to the sensation of being eaten alive by a lover. It was like grasping the seams of heaven. Pure, unnamed bliss, in the form of gray eyes.
> 
> “I won’t stop until I find him. With or without your approval”. 

“Almost nobody dances sober, unless they happen to be insane.”

― Howard Phillips Lovecraft. Collected Poems.

Chapter IV ― Nobody dances sober.

Noctis doesn’t remember it very well, but at some point, he was lifted off the ground and _something_ , tougher than his own obstinacy, pulled him away from the ruins of Formouth. At first, the prince did what he could to fight back and stay, and he only stopped kicking and cursing when Ignis grabbed his face and whispered the most valuable piece of human knowledge to his ear. “If he were dead…”, he had assured, “you would’ve met a fate worse than madness, believe me”. That prospect seemed to calm his erratic thoughts, somehow, but then his _heart_ screamed against that logic. Noctis wasn’t thinking straight at all; he wanted evidence, not poetry.

But then, it all went black. Probably a side effect of whatever crap Ignis had injected in his torso. In the middle of his feverish slumber, he dreamed. Strange, timeless pieces of truth. A lonely child, abandoned to his luck. Needles piercing his flesh. A tiny mouth that would not beg, to anyone. Even when his fragile spine was being cracked open, under lab bulbs. Even when the doctors put it back together. Noctis knew those were not reminiscences of his own past, and, at the same time, he craved deeply to swallow them fully, to nurture his desperation with something greater that self-pity. He learned about horrors that no human should ever have to witness, but the vivid images kept coming, and he embraced them gratefully.

The medical nightmare ended. White robes turned into metal armors, and the kid was given a pistol bigger than his hand. Somehow, they were hoping he would fail the test. But he didn’t. His resolve did not waiver; not even once. A beautiful death-bringer, firing down creatures made of ash and bone. A boy who was trained to profess no sympathy for the living, and a bizarre adoration for the martyrs. Noctis had been raised under different beliefs, and in kinder circumstances. He could never rule alongside the genocidal monsters that plagued the throne of Niflheim. However, the darkness crept down on him and all that he found, in the mirror of his soul, was the willingness to commiserate the sins of the other. And beneath, the purest form of _longing, and recognition._ Two halves, two natures apparently conflicted, but meant to intertwine, until the end of days. That MT soldier had been tortured and beaten over and over again, and yet, he had showed Noct a glimpse of humanity. A proof that he wasn't entirely gone. To the prince of Lucis, this had been a revelation. He would save the love of his life, not matter what. Ignis and Gladio were in the room when he woke up. They looked like shit. How many hours had elapsed, since the three of them left Formouth behind? There were a bunch of cracked vials in a dresser, next to his bed. Not even the strongest analgesics in Lucis could inhibit his power. Nevertheless, he was aware part of him had been sedated. It was a smart choice.

 _Wait, my love_ , a sweet voice chanted inside his brain. _Soulmates eventually hide in the same corners_. He was beginning to hallucinate, even in his lucid moments. The remnants of Magitek poison were making his blood boil in certain places. Noct was waiting for his two shadows to make lots of accusatory, biting remarks… but the words never came.

“Here and now, it may seem that dragging me home was an act of compassion, but there is nothing gentle about making certain choices in my name…”, the prince replied, with a hoarse voice that sounded nothing like the reckless child that used to run around the Citadel’s garden, “…I want you both to know something: the only difference between those corpses lying on the ground, in Formouth, with their throats open wide, and me, is that they have nothing to say or do about it. The rest is pretty much the same. We’re just _war casualties_ ”.

“Now that you’re out of danger, it’s ok to be a complete asshole?”, Gladio brawled, baring his white alpha teeth. Noctis expression had changed. There was a somber quality to his laugh, his eyes. They scrutinized each other, menacingly. Ignis took a step back and palmed his jacket, instinctively searching for a glimpse of steel. It was, for better or worse, a natural _omega_ reflex. To take hold of a weapon every time his body felt the spasms of _anxiety_.

“Leave him be”, Ignis said, very carefully, not moving a single inch and putting as much distance as he could between his neck and the wolves. “It’s a natural reaction after being forcefully detached from the physical presence of his mate. He can’t actually control it. According to certain studies, the other must be facing the same overwhelming _frustration_. And I’m pretty adamant when I say it must be ten times worse for an omega…”.

“What is that supposed to mean?”, Noctis interrupted, frowning.

“Yes, it’s exactly as baffling as it seems. You are _bound_ to the soul of another man, Noctis. Everything that happens inside your head, he will experience it as well. Your stupid whims, your fears, your… desires”.

The prince knew his cheeks were burning in that instant. He yearned, _oh yes, terribly_. Memories could not hold justice to the sensation of being eaten alive by a lover. It was like grasping the seams of heaven. Pure, unnamed bliss, in the form of gray eyes.

“I won’t stop until I find him. With or without your approval”. 

“Stop acting like you didn’t commit treason to this country, to your father, _for a whore_!”, Gladio spat, getting up from his chair with such force that the entire place trembled. Noctis got up, blind with rage, and immediately bent downwards, slackened by pain.

“You’re lucky I don’t hit men when they weakened. There’s a thing called honor, and some of us hold it high”.

Gladio stormed out of the royal suit, not sparing the prince another glance. Making a superhuman effort, Noctis lifted his face and met Ignis’ eyes. He definitely looked more tired than annoyed, which was a great improvement, compared to Gladio.

“Please consider, every time your hurt yourself, or others…”, Ignis pled, and he sounded a decade older, “…that you’re also deflecting this intensity, this rage, onto someone who’s suffering as much as you do, right now. If you want to protect him, don’t double up his agony. Try to soothe all the ugliness inside, or you’ll drive him crazy”.

To Noctis’ disbelief, there wasn’t a single trace of malice in the instructions of his mentor. Only loyal concern, and maybe, a hint of genuine _fear_. For what, he couldn’t tell.

“Even rational beings excuse atrocities when they’re in love”.

There was a moment of eerie quietness, and Noctis almost believed he was about to be left alone with his torment. Incredibly, the notion of having a large hole carved in the wall to himself seemed quite appealing. He needed time to come back to his senses. And to dwell on the next course of action. Nothing was more important than retrieving what was _temporarily_ out of reach.

“King Regis is coming to see you”, Ignis added, before heading for the door. “He’s bringing Lady Lunafreya”.

Noctis guessed it was the moment to actually panic, but no. The boy was strangely eager to get rid of his demons, once and for all.

Somehow, Ignis misinterpreted his ominous acceptance and believed him to be, well, in a state of shock.

“There are reliable methods to disguise the new smell you’re…”

“No”, the prince snarled, with a resolve that signaled finality. Ignis saw it again, too clearly. The fierceness that was not his friend’s. He was petrified to discover how easily Noctis had welcomed that enigmatic, haunting presence into his soul. It could take a lifetime for some lovers to accept the invasive nature of bonds. But, for them, it had been like coming for air after centuries underwater. Iggy was, to say the least, both disgusted and enthralled by the tragic beauty of it. Perhaps he had found, deep inside, a small sign of empathy for his prince. It died as quickly as it appeared when Noctis spoke again.

“I don’t give a fuck if the whole world notices. After all, I’ve always been cursed. My faults won’t come as a surprise to anyone”.

His faithful advisor did something then, for the first time. He _bowed_ to the prince.

Shiva had made a promise, twenty years ago, and Noctis would pay homage to her cruel intuition.

The heart was weak.

* * *

On the other side of Eos, the heir of Niflheim lies restless on a makeshift bed, in his private dwelling at Vogliupe, alone with a hundred thoughts, and a silver pistol. He’s only a few hours away from reuniting with his adoptive father and emperor, Iedolas Aldercapt, and his oppressive tutor, Izunia. They are ready to hear a plausible explanation for his greatest failure to date: the catastrophic loss of Formouth. And of course, Iedolas is demanding _blood and vengeance_. Prompto should be grateful they haven’t released a martial decree ordering his execution, but he isn’t. Aranea suggested it would be smarter to play by their rules, and prevent the shit from hitting the fan. Of course, she knew perfectly well how to sneak past the guarded frontier with Insomnia, she had been offered immunity and absolution, a while ago, in exchange for valuable intel and resources. They were to scheme the journey very carefully. Once Prompto was within the enemy lines, he would be on his own. Many challenging rivals, on the other side, wanted Aranea buried six feet underground. She would only make it past the limits, give the glaives what they wanted, and run to a safe haven in the mountains. But Argentum was a mysterious figure and his name hadn’t been tarnished publicly, not like hers. He had a chance, albeit a pretty small and suicidal one.

He is naked from the waist up, his chest wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. He dreamed long visions, as well. A hidden palace bathed in purple and gold, among a field of sylleblossoms. The smile of a girl who never met war, or famine. Prompto discovered her name, engraved like a wound in the back of a leather journal. It brought him the ugliest emotion: _jealousy_. But then a voice he would remember until his last moment echoed inside his mind, caressing the rotten fibers of his soul. _You own every fragment of my being._

The beast waited, in silence, until the excruciating pain went away. Until the letters secretly addressed to Luna burned and became ashes. He kept watching Noctis' past unfold before his eyes, only to marvel at the sight of the most extraordinary boy, draped in flowers and constellations, smiling back at his father. A tall, lanky friend, sporting rounded glasses. This name was easier to learn, and the beast momentarily forgot about the blond strands kept in a necklace. Years of joy, of being carried in the shoulders by some giant teen with tattoos. Years that he spent trapped in a government facility, alone, mastering the art of incrusting a bullet between the eyes of a deer. It was wretchedly ironical, in the end, for a heart full of villainy, like his, to be so easily adaptable and willing to heal. But Noctis had made him fantasize, if only for a second, with the possibility of atonement. It scared him, very much. To hear the stars calling for him, in the pits of hell. It was maddening.

When the bond started to pulse and thrive, he felt like an uninvited guest, a criminal, peering through the cracks of his lover’s open soul. But then, he acknowledged the wanting, the curiosity he harbored so well. The lingering need to see him one more time. And once he stole the first memory to himself, he could not restrain the egotistical urge to devour it all.

Prompto sat on the edge of the mattress, and took a last drag of acid nicotine. He wanted to fill his lungs, his room, with something more pungent than the aftertaste of his lover. Smoking was his favorite distraction of all. Prom had truly enjoyed sharing fragments of his past with Noctis; but the process had been quite hurtful as well, for a dream is only a shadow, and it simply turns to dust when you blink. To watch the prince of Insomnia become a powerful demigod had been incredibly arousing, to say the least. Black, soft tendrils. Pale mouth, eyes like a furious ocean. A man he desired so badly it was killing him. Oh, how glorious it had been, to eat alive a bird trapped among his dirty fingers. To kiss him with hunger. Prompto needed to calm his mind, but his mind was screaming in seven fucking different languages. _Noctis. Noctis. Noctis_. The beast fell to his knees, begging for mercy.

He didn’t even notice when the door opened and a thin figure slithered her way to his side.

“You’re not letting me sleep”, she hummed. “I can hear your fucking thoughts in my chambers, Prom. It’s a refined form of torture”.

“I’m sorry”, he merely shrugged. His own voice sounded foreign, distant. It ricocheted all over the castle.

Prompto looked at her and realized she had no clothes. Her skin temperature was so hot it made the prince retreat to his corner.

“No, let me stay close”, Aranea said, “I have to leave the imprints of my sweat on you. We must convince Ardyn you laid with me. That, and an oversized cocktail of suppressants may do the trick”.

The mere idea of touching another alpha made Prompto’s stomach turn over. But he also smelled her candid intentions in the oxygen they shared, and, to his relief, there were no signs of sexual appetite in her. He tried to focus on the task at hand. To repeat himself multiple times it was for the best, to let Aranea help. He closed his eyes and allowed her oversweet aroma to wash over him, like a shroud. It was pretty hard not to puke on the floor. Even staying still, in the dark, proved to be awfully exhausting.

“See, you’re basically my older sister. Lying in this crappy bed with you, even if we’re only plotting to betray our common enemy, is like having a piece of rotten meat for breakfast”.

Aranea smacked his forehead. Damn, he could be a royal prick sometimes.

“Wow, that was the most romantic thing a man has ever said to me”.

Their childlike laughs filled the quiet room. Prompto visibly relaxed, and tried to have some rest before the dawn. Her rhythmical breathing, next to his shoulder, reminded him of the blizzards at the Arctic Crevasse. It proved to be oddly sedative.

“Hey Prom…”, she purred, after a moment in silence.

“Yeah?”.

“Talk to me about Noctis”.

Just hearing the name out loud was like touching a wire with his bare fingers. He was definitely falling too hard.

“What do you want to know about him?”, he asked, mentally going through the twenty-year story that he had learned in the course of three days.

“I want to know what you discovered, in dreams, that made you project all those gorgeous visions all over the place”.

Prompto almost jumped out of bed.

“What the…?”.

“Shh, don’t fret. People can’t actually get to see them. Only you”, she reassured. “It’s funny, kid, that you have zero idea of how a bond works between two humans”.

“And what about you?”, he counterattacked. “How does a woman, isolated by war, learn all what’s there to know about soulmates?”.

“Oh”, Aranea blinked, and her smile faltered. “That’s because I believed to have met mine, long ago”.

For the first time in his short existence, Prompto Argentum found himself sincerely pitying the loneliness of someone else.

“So…”, he added, trying to relieve the awkwardness between them, “…how can you tell there was a rare beauty to the visions I saw, if you didn’t steal anything from my mind?”.

“That’s easy. Because of the way you were desperately praying for them to stop”.

Her words struck the depths of Prompto’s soul. The Niflheim prince wasn’t exactly familiar with the concept of _praying_. It must have been a terrible joke, or a weird metaphor.

“I saw a child of light, being held in the arms of a loving father”, he confessed, and the truth poured out of him like rain. Aranea was attentively listening, caught up in the magic of it. “He spent hours and hours running among the butterflies, carelessly, no obscurity or guilt in his chest. There were two wolflings. Umbra and Pryna. A small hand would pet them, with kindness. Can you imagine that?”, he abruptly asked, “Being capable of showing compassion to a fragile animal?”.

Aranea’s eyes were glistening beneath the moonlight, but he continued, his heart breaking more and more with each sentence. “Noctis had only a few companions, but their affection was genuine. He always had this... brooding aura, however”, Prom admitted, and he beamed, like a sun, at the memories. “Such a whimsical little brat…”.

“Prince Noctis has a bride”, she recalled, and the hand fondling her head stiffened. All hints of sunshine were gone. There it was, again, the ferocious beast. Scratching the walls with his iron claws.

“Lady Lunafreya”, he murmured, and the poison seared his tongue. “The holy Oracle of Tenebrae”.

He had never wished death and chaos upon the innocent, like he did in that moment. General Highwind held him tighter.

“I could inflict so much pain, Aranea. I could instill so much horror…”, he mused. The beast was singing.

“But you won’t’…”, she finished for him. “Not in a way that could also violate Noctis”.

The blonde agreed. His friend, as usual, was right in her bold expectations.

“Your prince will embrace that loathing as if it were his own”, she revealed, and the MT felt drunk in power. And awfully scared of breaking the man he adored.

After that brief conversation, they only stared at the night sky through the window glass. He got used to the starkness of her flesh, even found it comfortable. He had been wise in letting her in. Aranea was his only confident. The word “sister” suited her well.

“Prom… I’m afraid this foolish decision will lead you to a premature death”.

He placed a soft kiss on her forehead. They were going to miss each other, in their own particular and sadistic way.

“Some things are just worth dying for”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi darlings! I'm really grateful for every kudo, every subscription, every hit! Pleaseeeeeeee leave a comment if you're enjoying the story. I really would love to know what do you guys think of my dumb writing. I'm not an English native speaker and feedback is very much appreciated. I had to divide this chapter into two installments, because the original draft is tooooo long. Expect the next update soon *wink wink*. We'll get to see next a scene of Noct facing Luna (omg omg omg THE FEELS) and REGISSSSS!!!!!! Oh, and Prompto trying to fool Ardyn lol. Anyways, PLEASE SHOW YOUR LOVE IN THE COMMENTS!

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello there. I'm obsessed with this ship and this twisted story is gonna be probably four, five chapters long. So enjoy the ride, perverts.


End file.
